The Darkness Within Us All
by Coffee-is-Life
Summary: A demon has escaped and now the Nordics are trapped in a mansion that no longer exists with their greatest failings. Sorry, story better than summary. There WILL be a happy ending, I promise. Rated M for safety. I also do not own Hetalia, nor do I own the random Dr Who quotes.
1. Chapter 1

Norway felt it first: a cold menace lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce.

The fairies felt it too: without a word of farewell, they vanished.

"Ísland, do you-?" he started to ask.

"Ja."

"It's a demon, isn't it? One of yours?"

"Ja."

Both brothers were now standing, back-to-back, looking around the room, trying to find the demon. They had attracted the attention of Denmark and Sweden, who had been fighting; and Finland, who had been trying to break it up.

"Bros! What's going on?"

"Shut up, Danmark." Norway continued scanning the room. "There's a demon in here."

Laughing, Denmark came to stand in front of the glaring Norwegian. "You don't still believe in demons, do ya, Norge?"

In a sharp, well-practiced motion, Norway yanked Denmark's tie so that they were eye-to-eye. "This is no laughing matter, Idiot. Kindly shut up so I can figure out how to get rid of the de-"

His words were cut off by a loud clap of thunder (odd, since it had been a nice, sunny -if a bit chilly- fall day earlier) and a flash of darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Norway was the first to wake. Groggily, he opened his eyes. They were all in what looked to be a Victorian-era parlor, complete with Persian rugs and useless end tables. It was a very familiar parlor, Norway realized. Yes, it was his parlor, the one in the house that had been bombed during WWII. How, then, were they here?

He started to sit up. The rest of his family -Sweden, Finland, Iceland, and Denmark- also seemed to being waking up. They all looked alright; certainly, they had sustained worse injuries before.

"What the hell?" Iceland muttered as he sat up.

"Your demon sent us here, Little Brother."

"It's not my demon-"

"Where are we?" Denmark demanded.

"My old house," Norway replied, "the one the Germans bombed."

"I r'm'mb'r th's house," Sweden murmured.

"Well, now that we know where we are, let's go home!" Denmark exclaimed.

Iceland gave Norway a considering look, and then said, "I don't think we can."

"Why not, Little Bro!?"

Iceland took a deep breath. "This kind of demon feeds off the pain of its victims. It will have trapped us here."

Denmark clearly didn't like that idea. "I'm the King of the North! Nothing can stop me!" he shouted as he attempted to chop the wall down with his ax.

It didn't work.

"In the real world," Norway mused, "you once punched a hole in that wall. If your ax won't go through, then we may be stuck here."

* * *

A/N: This is my first fan-fic I've posted online. Reviews are helpful, but flames will be used to warm my icy heart.


	3. Chapter 3

After Denmark finished freaking out, Finland spoke up. "Ruotsi, we should have a plan."

"M'w'fe's r'ght."

"If the demon is targeting us, and more specifically, our pain, we should all stick together. No exploring, no running off. Alright?" Norway said.

Everyone agreed.

"So…what do we do now?" Denmark asked after an awkward silence.

Norway was about to answer him, when something began to feel…wrong.

"Little Brother?" he asked, looking around as he stood. "Ísland? Emil!?"

Iceland was gone.

* * *

A/N: I don't think I've mentioned this before, but "Ruotsi is Finnish for "Sweden" and "Ísland" is Norwegian for "Iceland."

This is the part that I got freaked out at last night when I was writing this.

It starts getting bloody soon. The faint-of-heart may want to stop reading in a chapter or two.


	4. Chapter 4

Most outsiders would be under the impression that the one thing Norway cared about was his Little Brother. This was not true; he did care about other things -mainly coffee and Denmark. However, in this case, he was most concerned about Iceland, who was now lost in a non-existent, demon-infested mansion.

"Whatarewegonnado? Whatarewegonnado? Whatarewegonnado?" Norway was actually quite worried about his Little Brother, Denmark reflected. Of course, the last time the Norwegian had acted like this was the first time he'd had coffee. (He liked the stuff so much he had seven cups in an hour; everyone in the vicinity had been really disturbed.)

"Norge, calm down. I'm sure he's around here somewhere. We'll split into groups and find him."

Norway took a deep breath. "Danmark, let go."

The Dane seemed to have forgotten that he was physically restraining the Norwegian from running off. He grinned, gave Norway a peck on the cheek, and let go.

"Sverige, Finland, why don't you check upstairs? Danmark and I will check this floor and the basement."

Sweden nodded. "C'me 'n, w'fe."

He led Finland up the stairs.

* * *

A/N: "Danmark" is Norwegian for "Denmark". "Sverige" is Norwegian for "Sweden."

Now, there are two more chapters before the really bad stuff starts. I you do not want these feels, I suggest you get off at the next station.

Thanks for reading and reviews!


	5. Chapter 5

Once upstairs, Finland asked, "Why do you remember this house, Ruotsi?"

"I h'lped b'ld't."

"Oh."

The entire house had an air of abandonment, as any house that had been blown up during the Second World War might. It was gloomy and dusty. Spiders had set up permanent residence in all the nooks and crannies.

Sweden noticed something: an imprint in the dust. He knelt down for a closer look.

Shoe-print. Too big for Iceland's, if Sweden was not mistaken. He rarely was.

Turning around, he started to motion for Finland to come over and have a closer look.

But Finland was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Norway used his magic to see if he could find Iceland. At least, he tried to. All of the spells he tried told him that Iceland was nowhere to be found.

Denmark moved along behind him, analyzing the floor and walls the way an expert tracker analyses trees and bushes for signs of game.

"He hasn't been this way," Denmark started to say. Actually, all he got out was, "He hasn't be-" before his words were cut off.

Norway spun around. A black tentacle thing had grabbed the Dane, covering his mouth and pinning his arms to his sides. His head drooped. Norway took a step forward. "Let him go!"

The demon laughed, then -along with Denmark- vanished.

Norway fell to his knees. His magic told him that Denmark was no longer among the living.

A single tear fell to the floor.

* * *

A/N: Things are about to go terribly wrong. And bloody. Very bloody. Not for the faint of heart. If you don't want to read that, GET OFF NOW.

This will be your last warning.


	7. Chapter 7

Finland woke up in a sparsely -furnished room. The walls were a grimy white. A single narrow bed sat in the corner, with a night stand next to it.

Three things were on the night stand: a long knife, a bowl of water, a yellow rose.

He picked the rose up, then immediately dropped it. The thorns were longer and sharper than they looked; deep punctures marked his palm, dripped blood on the floor.

He ripped a strip of cloth off the bottom of his shirt and started to wash his hand in the bowl.

The water turned first pink, then red.

A reflection formed and caught Finland's eye. He paused.

The water reflected Finland, but not as he was now: in the image, he was tall and noble. He bore a staff, and a group of people followed him northward. A great cloak hung from his shoulders, blew in the wind.

He looked older in that image - stronger too, and wiser. That Finland was a fearless leader; he bowed to no one.

What had happened?

Doubts began clawing at Finland's heart. He should not have allowed Sweden to take over; he should have fought harder. He never should have bowed. Even for love. Did he love Sweden? He couldn't say for sure anymore.

He sat on the edge of the bed. He was worthless, reduced to the status of 'housewife.' He might as well end that, at least.

He dipped a finger in his blood, and wrote, "All faults are Sweden's" on the wall.

Then, he took the knife, laid it against his wrist, prayed to gods he could no longer remember, and cut.

His last thought was this: "Death must be better."

* * *

A/N: I warned you. It will, by the way, get worse.


	8. Chapter 8

Sweden sat in a dank, damp cell.

Other than himself, there was also a table and on the table, a map.

He unrolled the map and held the edges down.

It was a map of Northern Europe, with current political boundaries. As he watched, though, a red splotch bloomed in Stockholm. Quickly, it spread in all directions, until it covered the entirety of of the old Swedish Empire.

He lightly touched the stain. It was wet, sticky even. Blood.

He closed his eyes. Bad idea. He saw the faces of the innocents he had murdered because of his pride.

His hands started burning. Opening his eyes, he stripped off his gloves.

His hands were covered in blood.

He sat heavily on the floor. He was a monster.

His gaze was caught by a mirror on the wall. He hadn't noticed it before, but there it was.

He saw his face, not as it was now, but as it had been: older, wiser; no glasses; the faintest trace of a day-old beard along his jaw. A crown sat on his head.

Then the reflection changed. It became Finland's face, then Norway's. Both faces were filled with equal parts loathing and fear.

What had he done? Why had he needed to be better than Denmark? To rule everything so that Denmark could not?

The image changed a last time: Finland, slumped on a bed with blood-stained sheets, blood leaking from slit wrists. On the wall, words were written in more blood: "All faults' are Sweden's."

No. No, no, no. Finland didn't think that. He couldn't.

A tiny voice whispered that yes, Finland did believe that. Every word.

Sweden couldn't look anymore. He threw his glasses at the wall. He heard them shatter.

Fingers, trembling and compelled by some unknown force, wrote words on the floor. He wasn't sure, but he thought they said, "Forgive me, Suomi." All he could see was a crimson smear.

Suddenly, one hand ran into a cold, metallic object: a knife.

He hefted it, considering. He could no longer live with himself. The man he loved did not love him, maybe had never loved him. The blood on his hands was a testament to what a monster he was.

He did not deserve a life. Or a heart.

He rammed the knife into his heart; all went black.


	9. Chapter 9

Iceland was huddled in his old bedroom. He knew the demon was there. He could feel its darkness pressing in all around him.

"What do you want?" he asked, trying to sound brave. A small tremor shook his voice.

The demon laughed. "Everything. The world to suffer, to bow to me."

"The others will stop you."

"Here's a little secret, Ísland-"

"Don't call me that!"

The demon ignored him. "Your big brother is the strongest of all the magical countries, and the only one with experience in dealing with my kind. I had to get power to take him out. The rest of your family -and you, of course- will help with that. I will kill Norway and then nothing will stop me."

"He'll stop you."

"Even if death is a place of solace? No matter, you are closest to him. Talk."

Against his will, Iceland's lips formed words: "Norway will do anything for family."

The demon smiled. "Good, good. Go on."

"The fairies are his friends, and his companion is a troll."

Iceland couldn't help as words, betrayals, tumbled from his mouth. There had to be someway to stop them…

He remembered the knife he had kept under the bed. Was it still there? It wouldn't do much against the demon, but if it stopped the betrayals…

Covertly, he reached under the bed. Yes! The knife was still there, sheathed and wrapped in plain cloth.

He tried not to think about what he was doing as he set the knife on his throat, just to the left of his Adam's apple. He dug the knife in, trying to scream as pain overwhelmed him. But that was now impossible, he realized, as he heard his vocal chords snap.

The knife slipped from his fingers as he fell sideways. His last thought before darkness claimed him: "Forgive me, Big Brother."

But no one would ever hear those words.

* * *

A/N: Denmark's chapter is next. Just a warning.

As for the shipping question, I'll let you decide whether or not I ship Den/Nor.

I'm such a horrible big brother...


	10. Chapter 10

Denmark sat on a throne.

It was beautiful: gold embossed leather, carved wood, blood-red leather.

It was comfortable, too.

Something was wrong: he was alone.

Denmark hated being alone.

Ever since the Kalmar Union, but especially since the treaty of Kiel, he hated it more than anything.

Taking a deep breath, he stood. If he looked around, he was bound to find someone, right? There had to be someone in this vast hall. Maybe they were hiding behind the pillars…

He climbed down the stairs leading from the throne. Head held high (even if he was scared, at least he could put on a brave face), he marched forward -until he ran into a table.

How had he not noticed it before?

Oh well, no matter.

Denmark inspected the things on the table: a mirror, a knife, a crown.

The crown, at least, was familiar; it was the one he'd worn during the Kalmar Union.

Some force compelled him to put it on. Once it was settled in his hair, he looked at himself in the mirror.

He did not like what he saw: a man with a cruel (if handsome) face; greedy, heartless eyes; in short, a man with no compassion. This was the man who had sentenced one hundred Swedes to death. This was a man who had needed to rule everyone and everything- and had ended up with nothing.

Denmark threw the mirror at a nearby pillar. "I will not be that man!"

The sound of breaking glass seemed to mock him.

He threw the crown at the mocking laughter, knowing that it would do no good.

He sat heavily on the floor, trying to hide from the laughter. He hugged his knees to his chest.

If he was alone, who was laughing?

"Who's there?"

The glass from the mirror congealed into a person: Norway.

"Norge!" Denmark shouted, happier than ever to see him.

Norway smiled a cruel smile. "Hello, Danmark." His voice was colder than ice.

Denmark hugged him anyway and kissed the top of his head. That earned him a fist to the gut.

"What the hell, Norge?"

Norway smiled. "Don't touch me again, Dane. It reminds me too much of my four-hundred-year night."

"You aren't Norway! Who are you?"

The fake Norway merely smiled and vanished.

Denmark was left alone again. This time, it was worse.

Tears slid down his face, dripped down his nose. He was too defeated to stop them.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself sleep.

It was not pleasant, this sleep: it was haunted by phantoms of Denmark's past, his present, his future. In his dreams, he saw those he loved die over and over and over again, each time more horrible than the last. And he could do nothing.

Finally, something tugged him from his dreams.

He stood. He had to get out of here. Without thinking, he ran -straight into a full-length mirror.

He looked at his reflection again. This time, he wore no crown. He wore his heavy, black coat. He carried his ax so that the haft rested on rested on his shoulder.

His entire right side was splattered with blood.

Blood? How-?

As he thought about it, an explanation floated to the top of his mind: Images of him, murdering someone…

The images snapped into focus. He fell to his knees.

Norway.

He retched violently. This couldn't- He would never-

Suddenly, he hated what he saw. He couldn't stand it.

Trembling fingers found the knife on the table. Taking it, he set the blade on his lower eyelid, holding his hand steady with a thumb in the corner of his eye.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself.

Then, he stopped. There was something…wrong…about removing his eyes. At first, he couldn't put his finger on it. Then, he realized: he didn't want to be blind (and anyway, hiseyes would eventually regenerate), he wanted to be executed for his crimes.

The knife fell. Knives were not used in executions….

…But axes were.

He laid the crescent curve of the ax blade on his throat. He murmured prayers to a god he did not believe in; to gods he had once believed in, but whose names he could no longer remember.

He counted down: "3…2…1-"

* * *

A/N: I feel like a terrible person right now. Just so you know.


	11. Chapter 11

Norway remembered, unlike the others, how he had gotten into the room in the basement. He had walked in there, of his own accord. Somehow, he had known that the demon would be there.

Now he sat in a small pool of light, feeling the darkness pressing in all around him.

He was tired, so tired. How much time had passed since they had been brought to this house? He couldn't tell.

The demon was laughing at him.

"Why do you laugh, demon?"

"Why should I not laugh, Brother?"

"I am not your brother!"

The demon laughed. "Let me show you your family, Noregur."

A bowl of water rested in front of him. An image formed in the water.

Finland picked up a yellow rose, and then dropped it. Blood dripped from the ends of his fingers.

Finland ripped a strip of cloth from his shirt and began to wash his hand.

He stopped.

Norway watched as Finland looked first wistful, then as if he was assailed by doubts.

Norway watched in horror as Finland wrote his last message, as he set the knife to his wrist, as his life's blood flowed away, as the sheets turned red.

"No!"

The vision wavered.

"Finland, live!" Norway shouted in a long-dead language. He sent his magic into the image, into Finland's body.

Now he watched as the blood stopped flowing, as the skin melded back together.

Norway did not know if it was enough (the Finn had lost a lot of blood, maybe too much), but it was all he could give.

The bowl of water turned blood-red. Norway, startled, looked up at the demon.

"His suffering is not at an end, Noregur."

"I almost healed him! I could have saved him. Why did you stop me?"

"It is not your place."

Norway took out his penknife and made a shallow cut in his thumb. He watched the blood well up for a moment, then started to draw on the floor. He made a circle around himself in blood-marked runes, a protection that the demon could not cross.

"This is not _**your**_ place, demon."

The demon smiled. "Watch this next poor soul enter its final act."

The bowl of water, which had ended up in the circle, turned clear again.

This time, Norway saw Sweden. He watched as the map was unrolled, as the stain spread across Northern Europe.

He watched as Sweden's hands became covered in blood, as his face transformed with despair and disgust. He saw Sweden throw his glasses at the wall. They shattered.

He watched as Sweden, too, wrote a last message, then as he rammed the knife into his heart.

Norway looked away as Sweden fell. He forced himself to look back, to summon some remaining magic, to heal the Swede.

The knife fell from his chest; the wound stopped leaking blood.

Norway sat back, exhausted. He could do no more for the Swede.

"By my will, demon, it is not his final act."

"Don't you see, Noregur, by depriving your brothers of death, you are making them live in misery?"

"We have all lived in misery before. It is part of life."

The demon laughed again. "Perhaps you will not feel that way after watching another die."

"They aren't dead!"

"We'll see."

A new image appeared in the water: Iceland.

He was huddled in a corner of his old bedroom, trying to look brave.

Norway watched as the demon laid out its plans, as it made Iceland talk. He watched as Iceland, continuing to babble away Norway's secrets, reached under the bed and found a knife.

Norway recognized the knife; he had given it to his little brother in 1814.

Horror filled him as he watched Iceland -his innocent little brother- set the point to his throat and cut.

Iceland's words abruptly cut off.

Norway heard the sickening snap of his vocal cords, saw the fountain of blood gush in spasmic spurts.

The image blurred -not because it was fading, but because Norway's eyes had filled with tears. Tears ran down his face, dripped onto the floor.

"Why? Why did you make him do that?"

"I did nothing. You did this. You made him close to you. You told him your secrets. Whose fault I that? Not mine."

Norway felt cold. The demon was right. It was all his fault. Finland's death, Sweden's death, Iceland's death: they were all his fault. He had let himself get too close to them.

Tears still falling, he whispered an incantation over the bowl, and, through still blurry eyes, watched as the bleeding stopped, as the skin grew back together -not neatly, but it would do.

The tears slowed as Norway's resolve hardened. He conjured up a knife -an old, Viking-style one- and contemplated it for a moment. If he was no longer alive, then the demon would not need to weaken him by torturing his family.

They could be happy. Safe. Alive.

With one hand, he held the knife so that the point dug into the skin between his skull and his first vertebrae. It would be quick and painless.

He closed his eyes.

The demon laughed. "I had hoped to kill you myself, Noregur, but this is much better."

His eyes snapped open. The knife fell from his fingers. He stood.

"I will save my family, vile one, or I will kill you myself." His voice was barely above a whisper, but it held all the frigid intensity of a blizzard. He could not die. As the demon had said while talking to Iceland, Norway was the only person who could stop it. He had a duty to the world and to his family.

"Show me the last vision."

"What last vision?" the demon asked innocently.

"Danmark. Show me Danmark."

"Ah, yes. Danmark. Are you sure?"

"Show him to me. Now."

The demon laughed once more.

Norway knelt in front of the bowl. A final image formed: Denmark, in all his glory, sitting on an enormous throne.

He was alone.

Norway knew that Denmark hated being alone. But that was what happened to people who had everything they loved taken from them.

Denmark stood up, walked down the stairs, and ran into a table.

A crown, a mirror, and a knife: three choices.

Denmark chose the crown, and then looked in the mirror.

His face drained of color; his eyes went wide; every feature of his face bespoke disgust, horror, and loathing.

"I will not be that man!" he shouted, throwing the mirror.

Laughter came from the shadows of the pillars.

Denmark threw the crown too, then slumped on the floor.

The laughter continued.

"Who's there?"

What Norway saw next nearly made him retch: _**He**_ stepped out from the pillars, a _**him**_ formed from the remnants of the mirror.

Denmark looked truly happy to see this Norway -perhaps he thought _**he**_ was the real one. Either way, he greeted _**him **_the way he would have greeted Norway at any other time: an enthusiastic shout of "Norge!", a great bear hug, and a single kiss atop the head.

The other Norway punched him in the gut.

"What the hell, Norge?"

"Don't touch me again. It reminds me too much of my four-hundred-year night."

Norway -the real one- turned to the demon. "I don't-"

"Watch; you've missed a part already."

Indeed, Norway had.

Danmark now sat on the floor, tears coursing down his face.

Danmark never cried.

Finally, he cried himself to sleep.

"Why would you do that to him?" Norway asked softly.

"He is important to you, is he not?"

The sleep that Danmark had fallen into was unnatural. During every second of it, his eyes moved behind their lids with rapid motion -a sleep composed of dreams. Bad dreams, too, judging by the way he stirred and groaned.

Danmark could never fall asleep alone. Not unless he was drunk.

He hated being alone.

Norway sent his magic into the image and woke Danmark up.

He was now wearing his heavy black coat and carrying his ax.

Disorientated from sleep still, he ran straight into a full length mirror.

Norway couldn't see why the Dane looked at first confused, then horrified, as he looked in the mirror, nor did he know why Danmark threw up after looking away. Some memory from the past, perhaps?

It was not important.

Norway watched Danmark brace the knife against his lower eyelid, watched a thin stream of blood ran down his face.

"No!" Norway shouted. "No, Danmark, don't do this!"

The knife fell from his fingers.

A considering look appeared on the Dane's face. He turned his ax around, set the edge against his throat, and counted.

"3…2…1-"

Norway couldn't watch anymore. He threw the bowl at the demon.

The bowl shattered, spraying water everywhere. Some of it got in Norway's eyes. He blinked.

It burned.

It wasn't water, he realized. It was demon's blood. That was why the demon could control it, even though the bowl had been in the circle.

Norway opened his eyes.

He could not see.

Nothing.

He was blind.

* * *

A/N: That was a monster chapter.

So, that was Chapter Eleven, which means that there are two chapters left. I already know what's going to happen. I think that the ending is rather satisfying, personally, but since I'm on Spring Break, no one's been able to read the ending. So, hold on; hopefully I'll have the last two chapters up by Friday.


	12. Chapter 12

He took a deep breath. For the moment, he was strong enough to maintain the circle.

He was safe, for the moment. He tore a strip of cloth off the bottom of his shirt and wrapped it around his eyes. No sense in damaging them further, if they could be saved.

It was not completely silent in the basement, as he had thought. He could hear his breathing, including the slight wheeze he only noticed during intense exercise. He'd had it since the 1300's.

The demon made a faint 'whooshing' sound as it moved about.

Somewhere in the distance, a mouse scuttled around.

Was Danmark dead?

Norway silenced the thought. The demon had to be dealt with first. Then there would be time to mourn.

Norway stepped outside of the circle. Immediately, the demon attacked him. Darkness pressed in all around him. He couldn't breathe. He-

He was not sure what he did. A ball of light (he could feel it, if not see it) banished the oppressive darkness.

Right away, Norway started drawing the runes that created a one-way portal back to the demon world. It opened. Now, Norway just had to push the demon back through. Not an easy task, even for those that could see.

Norway had read about demons, and had encountered a few of the smaller ones on visits with his Little Brother. They had not been nearly so strong.

Norway knew that, at the very least, all parts of demon had to go through; otherwise, he could come back.

A simple spell gathered the spilt demon's blood up and sent it through. The demon howled.

It was working.

Too exhausted to stand anymore, Norway sank to his knees. He muttered the banishing spell, a great, long, difficult spell, and prayed that it worked. Not for him; he was pretty sure it was too late for him, but for his brothers, if they still lived.

Norway felt the gate closing. The darkness he'd felt for what seemed like forever was also gone.

The demon was gone.

The house groaned and vanished around him.


	13. Chapter 13

Norway woke suddenly. Was it raining…?

No, it was just Denmark, crying over what the Dane must have thought was Norway's corpse. Clearly, it was not. Idiot…

"Danmark…?"

"Norge! You're not dead!"

"Idiot." Norway sat up. "Where are we?"

"In a clearing. It looks like the old growth was burned away at some point."

The clearing where the old house had been before it had been bombed.

"Is there a house?"

"No. But Norge, why don't you look yourself? It's all over, right? The demon or whatever is gone, right?"

Norway felt Denmark's hands starting to untie the knot in the cloth he'd put over his eyes. He placed his own hand over the Dane's.

"Danmark, I- I'm blind."

"I'm so sorry, Norge."

Norway shook his head, trying to clear it of dark thoughts. He caught a slight sound coming from nearby.

"Denmark, someone is coming."

Both heard someone singing. "I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more, just to be the man who falls down at your door."

"It's a mad man with a box!" Denmark exclaimed.

"Scotty?"

"There y'are, laddies," the Scottish man said. His tone, as always, was rather nonchalant. Norway remembered him as a tall, red-headed man who smoked and drank a lot.

At the moment, he did not smell like smoke at all.

"How did you find us, Scotty?" Norway asked.

"Well, ya disappeared."

Norway heard the clicking of a lighter.

"How long have we been…gone?"

"A month, at least."

"Why do you have a straw, Scotty?" Denmark asked.

"Been tryin' t' quit smokin', ya know. So, where have ya been?"

Norway quickly related the story, leaving out the details of what, exactly, he'd seen.

"Demons, eh? Well, that's bad luck, laddy."

"Have you seen the others?"

"Ah, sorry, nay. But I'll help ya look."

"Thank you."

"Anything for ya. We're friends, remember?"

Norway nodded. Then he cast a spell -good thing it was a small one- and pointed. "They are that way."

"Danny, me lad, ya look like ya need somethin' to straighten your back."

Norway heard the clicks of a suitcase being unlocked, then the sound of liquid being poured into a glass.

"Whiskey?" Denmark asked.

"The strongest in all of Glasgow."

A pause, then, "Hell, Scotty, that burns."

The Scottish man laughed. "Not for the weak, eh? Wanna shot, Norway?"

"What, do you have a liquor store in your suitcase?"

"It **is** bigger on the inside."

Norway shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks." He stood -and almost fell over. Even on the best days, he never had good balance.

Denmark caught him. "Hey, there, Norge, let me help you."

"What direction did ya say?"

"West."

"Let's go, then, laddies."

They walked slowly, not because they weren't eager to find the others, but because the ground was not smooth, and Denmark didn't want anything else to happen to Norway.

Still, it did not take them long to find Iceland.

"Nor, Iceland's here," Denmark said after a few minutes of walking.

Norway knelt down. He reached one trembling hand out. His fingers brushed soft, feathery hair.

"Ísland?" he whispered.

"Nor…"Iceland whispered back. His voice was rough now where once it had been almost melodic. "What happened to you?"

"I'm blind, Lillebror." His fingers trailed down the side of Iceland's face, to his throat. They paused on the new scar that ran from one side to the other. It was rough and twisted, almost as if it had been stitched back together improperly.

Memories of finding Iceland surfaced in his mind.

He wept.

Iceland wept too, as did Denmark.

"Brother, I am so sorry," Norway whispered to no one in particular. But those who needed to hear, did.

"Sweden and Finland are still out there, laddies."

"Uncle Scotty?" Iceland asked.

"Does everyone call me 'Uncle' now? Bloody gits," the Scottish man muttered darkly.

Denmark helped Norway stand. "He's right, Nor. They might need help."

"They are further West, Danmark."

"Alright. Here, Little Bro, let me help you up."

"I'm not a child," Iceland muttered petulantly.

Whatever happened next must have happened silently, because the next thing Norway knew, Iceland was holding his hand, the way he did when he was a child.

"Big Brother, forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, Ísland."

Iceland squeezed his hand. Denmark put an arm around Norway's waist and guided him westward.

They did find Sweden and Finland. Norway cold not see what was happening, so, in a low murmur, he asked, "Are they alright?"

Denmark did not answer right away. "Sweden's crying over Finland's body."

"No, I- I saved him!"

"Nor?"

Norway shook his head and knelt next to Sweden.

"N'rway," Sweden mumbled. "C'n ya s've h'm?"

"I don't know." Norway's fingers found the artery in Finland's throat. His pulse was weak and slow. He'd lost too much blood.

Norway began murmuring a spell. He was rather proud of it, as he'd written it himself.

The moment Norway finished the spell, Finland bolted upright. He then began to speak rapid Finnish.

No one could really understand what exactly he said, because none of them spoke very good Finnish. However, based on inflection, Norway thought that he was probably pleading with Sweden to forgive him.

Norway stood and walked a few steps away.

"N'rway?"

He stopped.

"I'm s'rry. 'Nd th'nk ya."

"It's fine, Sweden." He turned toward where he thought Scotland was. "Scotty, what time is it?"

"Around two, I think."

"We should get started walking, then. I don't want to be around here when it gets dark."

"Ah, Norway. I think I might -just maybe, understand- be able to fix yer eyes."

"Can you? I didn't realize you did much magic these days."

"I don't. But 'tis for a friend, is it not?"

"Well, you can't possibly make my vision worse. Go ahead."

Scotland began softly reciting a spell in Gaelic. It was a short spell; he was done in moments.

"Are you done now, Scotty?" Denmark asked, somewhat anxious.

"Aye."

Trembling fingers unknotted the strip of cloth Norway had wrapped around his eyes. Then it was gone.

He opened his eyes.

It was a glorious spring day. Nature had taken over the ruins of his old house, flowers growing in the cracks in the foundation, saplings growing in the clear spaces.

Norway did not think he had ever seen, or would ever see, a more beautiful sight. He turned in a circle, marveling at the colors and being thankful that Scotty had returned his sight.

He noticed a bare patch on the ground not too far away. It was a perfect circle, with runes running around the edges.

He smiled as he read the runes.

"What're ya smilin' about, Norway?" Scotland asked with a raised eyebrow.

Norway pointed to the runes. "Can you read them?"

"'…And they lived happily ever after'?"

"Ja."

"What is that?"

"The first spell I ever learned. And we'll all have a happy ending now, won't we?"

He looked around: Scotland had taken a seat on a block of stone and was absently chewing on a plastic straw; Iceland was lying on his back, looking at the sky; Sweden and Finland wept tears of joy in each other's arms; Denmark stood nearby, frowning.

"What's wrong, Danmark?"

"This means magic is real, doesn't it?"

"Ja. But it always was. Does it matter?"

"Nej. I suppose, if there's anything that Andersen taught me, it's that there has to be a little magic to have a happy ending."

"In spite of all the darkness." Norway laughed. Denmark jumped, startled.

"And they lived happily ever after," Scotty muttered.

* * *

A/N: Well, that's it!

Actually, I'm a little sad now, since I won't be working on this anymore.

If you have any ideas for plots, PM me. I'd love a new project!


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